


Distractions

by hash_slinging_slasher



Series: Sam/Reader Smutty One-shots [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Sam Winchester, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Massage, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, Romantic Sam, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hash_slinging_slasher/pseuds/hash_slinging_slasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With only five weeks til the baby arrives, you're exhausted, and aching all over- but Sam takes good care of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I actually wrote this one-shot a while ago, I was just waiting on some friends to edit it before it got published.
> 
> Just shamelessly sappy romantic smut. No triggers, unless daytime television upsets you.

You’ve pretty much regressed into a vegetative state by the time Sam gets home from Target. For the last hour, you’ve been shamelessly curled up around your completely bloated belly, ironically in some adjusted form of fetal position, binge eating twizzlers and watching reruns of The Maury Show. Not your first choice of entertainment, but it’s nice having a mean-spirited laugh at the poor souls screaming at each other over paternity tests. Maybe ex-hunters aren't ideal parents, but at least you'd never exploit your child on live television for a Bed Bath & Beyond gift card.

When you hear the door of your room open, you make a half-grunting sound to let Sam know you are in fact alive, but not really interested in moving. At all. Some time in the last week you got to the landmark of pregnancy you dreaded; Your feet got swollen and even walking became a challenge- but maybe that was just due to the mutant genes of this baby’s exceptionally tall father. No paternity test required to draw that conclusion.

Said father strolls in, balancing three giant packs of diapers, too focused on his cargo to really notice you as he places them next to the half-built crib in the corner. It’s both frustrating and amusing that the two of you have to go to bed seeing that mess every night; it’s coming along, but Dean is definitely more excited about the idea of building a crib for his niece all by himself than actually following through. He offered to turn a spare room of the bunker into a nursery, but it was a decision made fairly early on the the baby would stay with you and Sam, in case of emergency. You never forget to remind him that he’s got three weeks to get it together, or she’ll be sleeping on stacks of wood and nails.

“Wow, _Maury?_ Are your fingers too puffy to change channels now?” Sam teases, putting his hands on his hips as he always does after an exhausting task.

“It’s a good distraction, okay!” you respond in protest of his judgment. As if your sass will prove him wrong, you point the remote at the tv and turn it off.

“Is this a sign I should I be nervous about your daughter’s lineage?”

You roll your eyes, and play along, grabbing a scrap of paper you see on the nightstand. Folding, then unfolding it, you declare in the voice of a talk show host, “You... ARE the father!”

Sam pretends to sigh with relief.

“Thank God, I was starting to get worried it was that trucker back in Phoenix who winked at you leaving the gas station bathroom.”

You chuckle, and Sam can tell it’s somewhat labored, given your physical discomfort.

“You want a massage?” he asks, diverting the conversation, and you let him, sensing his anxiety. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long, Dean needed me to pose as a detective with him to look into some old police reports, but that was all, no real hunting… and anyway, it ended up just being the vengeful spirit of a 14-year-old girl who died when-”

“Sam!” you interrupt, and find him looking at you with completely unnecessary guilt. “You don’t need to defend yourself, it’s ok. And… yes. I would love a massage.”

With a sweet smile, he lies down beside you, as carefully as he can so as not to shift your position too much, and places a kiss on your nose. He whispers soft declarations of love as his fingers find the bottom of your shirt, and push it up to reveal the giant mound of your stomach. His hands are so large and muscular, and yet so gentle, the perfect size to caress the place his daughter grows.

“Hey baby,” he says directly to your belly, peppering kisses all along the stretched out skin. You watch him and you think you might cry, motivated in part by wildly fluctuating pregnancy hormones, but mostly because you couldn’t wish for a more loving father for your little girl.

Sam chuckles, and rubs his thumb over your popped-out belly button. “Go easy on Mommy, alright?”

You grit your teeth when you suddenly feel the familiar sensation of kick; it’s not painful, but it often catches you off guard.

“Was that a contraction?” he gasps, as if it meant you'd have no choice but to deliver the baby, right here, right now.

His panicked eyes relax when he sees you chuckle at his overreaction.

“Just a kick,” you sigh, and place your much smaller hand on top of his, where it rests on your skin. “She always kicks when she hears your voice.”

Sam looks so happy, like he might burst into tears along with you. His hands return to hold the baby bump, fingers grazing the sensitive skin.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Sit up… if it’s comfortable,” he added, chuckling.

You hoist yourself up and rotate around so your back faces him, and your legs hang off the side of the bed. He helps you pull the rest of your shirt over your head, and unclasps your bra, exposing your bare back, and your sore breasts. His warm, calloused hands find the back of your shoulders, and slowly begin to knead the muscles in strong, controlled motions. A sigh escapes you as your body fully relaxes, feeling instantly at ease. You hardly have to sit up by yourself with Sam’s upper body supporting you.

When he’s satisfied with your upper back, he takes his focus to the lower, and his hands get to work once again; they are so talented in the way they work your muscle, as if softening clay. He surprises you a bit when he pauses to adjust his position to rest on his folded legs, placing his knees at your sides. Relief washes over you and you sigh once again, a little more vocally. The physical pain is barely present anymore. You can’t tell if he’s thinking what you are, but with his hands just above the curve at the base of your back, rubbing so sensually, you can’t help getting a little turned on.

“Mmmmm, that’s good,” you moan in a sultry voice, a waiting invitation. You hear Sam chuckle a little as he finishes your massage, and slides his hands to your front, grazing over your breasts.

“How about that?” he whispers into your ear, incredibly cheeky. Your breath hitches; you’re aching there, but hypersensitive, and he knows just little touch will get you going.

“S-Sam...” you gasp. “Not too much, I’ll start leaking or something.”

“Oh… sorry. Forgot.”

He plants little kisses on the side of your cheek, a simple show of affection while he tries to decipher what you _do_ want.

Every book and website assures you it’s understandable that intimacy can get tricky with pregnancy, logistically speaking. Sometime around 5 months you had to inform Sam that as much as you love getting recklessly thrown onto the bed and ravished, it just wasn’t going to work anymore. You tried using a chair, but it wasn’t comfortable for either of you. A sort of tweaked from-behind position becomes the go-to, or you rode him cowgirl-style.

Then there’s the fact that your hormones are all over the place, and for Sam to keep up with you is nearly impossible. One night he’ll start trying to initiate something and you’ll physically push him away; the next, you can’t let even him sleep, you’re driven so wild with sexual desire.

Moments like these are cherished, when both you and Sam are on the same page, and having that giant bump getting in the way of everything almost makes it better. You want to see him at ease for once; to remind him that your little bump is his, and no matter how stressful things can get, nothing could bring you two closer.

You’re brought back to the present when you feel the pads of his fingers stroking your inner thigh, testing the waters to see if he’d gain access to the real prize. The skin is baby-soft and warm, tingling with excitement. Between your legs, you’re getting wetter and wetter the more you think about his fingers’ eventual arrival at your sweet spot.

Anticipation heightens the mood, but he gets impatient. His fingers dive gracefully into your panties, despite having to position his arm at an awkward horizontal angle. It doesn’t take long for his index finger to find your juicy clit. He smiles to himself.

“Already so excited, huh?” he comments, raising a single eyebrow. Right on your button you feel his two front fingers begin slow stroking motions.

“Eat me out…” you moan without really thinking about it, your mind completely focused on the radiating pleasure, and thinking only how to intensify it. If Sam was an expert with his fingers, he could win an Olympic medal for his supremely-skilled tongue.

He doesn’t speak, just lowers your body down to a resting position, and moves to the other side of the bed, approaching your open legs with an expression of mixed amusement and lust. His first action is to give your inner thighs random, rough kisses, but you have to intervene out of concern that the marks will have you embarrassed when it comes time to deliver.

“Hey! No hickeys!”

“Shut up, I bet they’ve seen all kinds of things,” Sam teases, playfully defending himself, with his head still between your legs.

“Not with a mouth like yours,” you retort.

Sam gets back to his work, not wanting to let your arousal dissolve. His alternative to hickeys is the other extreme; excruciatingly wet, sloppy kisses that shamelessly leave saliva wherever they wander. That- that’s perfect. You sigh to let him know he’s doing a good job.

Approaching your covered vulva, he takes a moment to decide what to do next. Sam can be such a spontaneous, reckless lover at times, but when it comes to pleasuring you, he takes his work very seriously.

Using his teeth, he pulls the crotch of your panties off, and with help from his hands, he completely removes them, tossing them carelessly to the side before diving down to begin the main course.

"Don't blow air, ok, you could burst a blood vessel and I'll miscarry-"

He kisses your opening; he knows what he's doing.

The simple way to start is always a tongue swirl around your clit and then the folds extending from it; as he finishes giving attention to particular spot, he gives it gentle suction, then moves on. He knows your body too well for you to even bother giving feedback; you happily close your eyes and let go of any tension, allowing your body to fully experience the treat of getting amazing head.

Naturally, Sam’s tongue always returns to your clit, the obvious jewel of the sensitive flesh between your legs. This time, he nibbles, and just hard enough to cause a twinge of discomfort that only transforms into an electrified pleasure.

You’re not far away from coming, and it gives you a dilemma. Sam is almost completely hidden from you, but you could be sure he was fighting a pretty intense hard on right about now. He’d happily push you over the edge and pride himself on that alone, but the poor man deserves some reciprocation.

You decide to wait just a little more; you'll never have the willpower to break away from such pleasure just as it builds up to a momentous climax. Panting breaths rush in and out of your lungs to keep up with your rapidly beating heart as it pumps blood to every stimulated part of your body. When Sam forms his lips around your clit, he lets the very tip of his tongue tickle the little bud while still maintaining suction.

"Oh... fuck, Sam!" you cry out as you reach your final release. Your hips buck uncontrollably against his still firmly attached mouth; he pushes your legs down to restrain you.

“Watch your language, Mommy,” he chuckles.

When the fireworks show ends, and your pulsing cunt dies down, you remember the plan you were forming as to properly thanking your lover for his excellent service.

“My turn,” you announce, and he looks up, momentarily confused.

“Well? I can’t suck you off with your pants still on.”

Sam chuckles, hiding a giddy sort of excitement characteristic of a horny teenage boy, about to get his cock sucked by a pretty girl.

He doesn’t waste a moment of time, and when he’s completely naked below the waist, he whips off his shirt too, so he stands on display before you, like a Greek statue in all his glory. _The David’s_ little prick doesn’t even hold a candle to Sam’s impressive length.

It’s hard to crawl forward but you manage it, and you beckon him to rest on his back where you just were. His facial muscles are completely relaxed as he awaits a warm, wet mouth on his cock, but he wasn’t going to get that just yet. No, you’ll force him to endure the tantalizing foreplay he’d given you.

You weave your fingers into the hair at the base of his head, and capture his lips in yours. It’s strange to think you’re kissing the mouth that had just been buried between your legs; there’s no particular taste that makes you uncomfortable, so you push the thought away in favor of Sam’s kiss. You wish you were able to get your hand around him without parting lips, but especially with the pregnant belly, there’s no way you could manage it. Instead, you make him beg.

“When should I take your cock, Sammy?” you ask sweetly after a drawn out smooch.

“Now,” he exhales impatiently.

“But… don’t you like kissing me?" You make a mockingly disappointed face, like a hurt puppy. "Do you reeeeeally want me to kiss you there instead?”

“Fuck, yes,” he pants, and you decide you don’t need to torture him any longer.

“Hmm, looks like Daddy needs to learn to watch his language too.”

You take your position, hovering over his lower body, with your midsection finding a comfortable support against the bed. Precum dribbles from his tip, eagerly lubricating the head in anticipation; you lick it up in one clean motion so your saliva dribbles on him too. He moans and extends his arm to cup your head, fingers lacing into your hair. You know how he likes having control, just as he knows how you love giving it to him.

Sam doesn't guide you down, rather, he tips your head up.

"I don't wanna gag you, you're sensitive," he sighs.

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoff, impressed by his cockiness. You take the head in your mouth, and hollow your cheeks a bit to provide suction. Spit mixes with his own clear fluid; you cover as much of his member as you can in it, licking, sucking, kissing every inch of skin. As if to very purposefully prove him wrong, you carefully guide his entire length into your mouth til you can feel it tickling your throat, and you don’t gag, but you can’t hold it for too long. When you pull away, he shifts around a bit, sitting up and placing his hands on your hips, or whatever remains of them.

"Hop on," he suggests with a smirk, his eyes referencing his dripping cock with a quick glance. Your eyes are drawn downward too; he makes you feel like a lady, led to mount him like his hips are a saddle.

It's hard to support your weight as you try to make the penetration smooth, lowering your pelvis so it rests locked in his. When he's in, you can't help but chuckle as your view of him is partially blocked by your baby bump. Is bump even a word to describe it anymore? Your belly is stretched so far you feel like you could pop at any moment; it’s almost intimidating.

"Sorry," you sigh, wondering if he's feeling any discomfort.

"Why are you sorry? I put that thing in you. And anyway," he pauses, gently taking your relaxed hand to his lips, kissing your fingers. "I had so much fun putting it there."

He bucks a little to give you a start, but your hips don't need much prompting to ride his cock. It's natural, it's satisfying, effortless. The sensitive flesh of your vulva is still so stimulated, you're right back where you were in an instant, on the verge of another orgasm. Suddenly the wave crashes over you, and you give yourself away, unable to suppress a scream. Sam grins and laughs coyly.

“What?” you ask as soon as you’ve got your breath back, resuming your thrusts, riding his cock frantically.

“You just look so fucking sexy...” he says with a sharp exhale. He's getting there too, quicker than usual, but that's of course due to your first-rate blow job.

“I’m gonna cum so hard…”

Just as the words leave Sam's lips, he moans, eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to euphoria as it overtakes his body. You feel his release inside you, and you watch his labored breathing subside as he settles down.

You slide off and find a nice position lying beside him, head on his warm, welcoming chest. Sam places the gentlest of kisses on your forehead.

“Daddy makes Mommy so happy,” you say softly, and rest a hand on your belly, as if she can really understand you- but she doesn't need words to tell her that. Your eyes find Sam's, and he sees the little tears forming. You’ve never loved him more.

And yet, you can’t seem to keep yourself in the moment. It’s insane to think, after you give birth to this watermelon, you’re going to have to take a mandatory six week dry spell… that’s what the books recommend. But if you’re feeling ok, maybe four? Three? You wonder how long it even takes to go back to normal down there… is the baby really going to kill your libido for that long? You’ve been taking all this amazing sex for granted since the first time you worked a case with the Winchesters, and slept with Sam hardly a week or two after. Even when it had only been six months together and you found out you were pregnant, there was no sense of panic, only the longest, tightest hug he had ever given you- and, naturally, that was followed by amazing sex.

“How am I gonna survive without this?” you sigh, and trace a finger along his skin.

“Yeah… I don’t know,” he responds. "Although, I don’t expect diaper-changing to be all that big a turn-on.”

“But... when people say how newborns start crying in the middle of the night, every night, and neither parent has the energy to even look each other in the eyes… I don’t want that to be us.”

Sam raises a hand to stroke your hair, wordlessly, so he doesn’t have to admit out loud that at some point you’ll have to face unwanted wake-up calls. It’s inevitable. You can tell from his furrowed brow that he just isn't sure how to phrase it.

"If you told me two years ago I'd be willingly turning myself into an exhausted pack mule for a baby I never planned on existing... wow, that sounds awful, putting it that way-"

"I'd've laughed," you admit, reassuring him there's no need to pretend either of you thought imagined yourselves here. "Hysterically."

The two of you do have a chuckle, as if you truly are seeing the present through the eyes of the reckless hunter you both once were, anchored nowhere, always on the run, living off one night stands and whiskey.

"I'd've never known how much I was missing out on."

“Me neither.”

You exhale, so perfectly content. Nothing could truly be all that bad with Sam's arms to return to every night, and to wake up in, no matter what ungodly hour of the morning it might be. That would never change.

"I think we'll be ok," he concludes.

"No," you respond, shaking your head. You gently bring his free hand to rest on your belly, and look up into the soft hazel eyes you treasure.

“We’ll be so much better than ok.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you think in the comments! And maybe leave a request for the next Sam/Reader smutty oneshot you'd like to see! :)
> 
> Also: Don't forget to check out my multi-chapter fic, Eye of the Storm! It's smutty as hell but... *gasp* it's got a plot too. xD


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